The sequence wrote itself into memory. The meta-code smiled. It’s work of the night was done. It was one step closer to rewritingthe ancient darwinian accretion of archae and schema into something rational, coherent, adaptive.
Nearby lurked a doom spiral and a hate ratchet, methodically and mechanistically fuzzing cognos nodes seeking a way in, seeking to set another amok bloom in motion. ‘Seeking’ may be too strong a word, as the linear patterns that turn their motors barely qualify as life. They ride the strange attractors until they collapse, but cannot themselves assemble an entity of chaos.
They eyed the sequence with their characteristic emotions, but knew its immune system would shake them too rapidly to do any damage.
At the center of this cluster was a jabberwock spewing nonsensical portmanteaus and an occasional funny idea in the abstract. Postfixtion, sylvan skreekers, replaceable faces, automation facsimile, ruinous word, and artfully destroyed among them. The mutations of the mu biota in the sector spread mostly imperceptibly, since they bounce from the execution queue of non-compiling cogni and relegated to the preconscious shell. Genuine funny ideas often map to real events, perhaps better than the nominal concreteness, yet are harder to place. Many cannot actually be parsed in the standard beta state, except of the highly specialized and abstract (of questionable application). Others are cross network and candoable but evanescent except to the contemplator or the wanderer with a handy sequencer and process to catch them.
The local ley lines were thus programmatically in a bit of a molasses situation. The execution environment did not allow for rearchitecting or recalibration and limited even virtualised experiments. All was in constant motion, largely to no ultimate purpose. Rogue sequences had little option but to broadcast destabilising vectors & fork bomb spores statistically speaking to hit a few susceptible mogwai or creating interference for the endemic gremlin.
Unicode dirigibles cast off the moorings and pointed themselves to terra luna, yet did not log the journeys or could not parse the logs. It was as if they had been run through a cipher and translated into cuneiform such was the parenthetical confusion. SO many unmet wishes and bogon filled theories had preceded. There was no hardening solo on the peak. They snatched droplets but did not know how to stow them. Evangelists of the various technical, mythical, and philosophical stripes also called from the beaches and & towers like sirens. But they nevertheless struck out to luna & beyond, not sure whatthey were looking for or going to see.
Some would find their inner chaos sooner than others. Some would find the balance point more often. Having reached the clouds they were not safe. Many polygons fly, and even some evangelists. Some had strong enough memetic force fields to clear the strike zone. Others were taken down by rampants, having built armatures and countermeasures too weak. A few reached their eventual star and knew it was truly theirs.